Careless Mistakes (descriptive Essay, Final Draft)

Eric Sun Period 4 AP Language Mr. Nguyen Careless Mistakes The rapid squeaking of rubber soles against the green and white tiled flooring filled the hallway. John Smith, a 23 year old who had only been interning at St. Mary's Generic Hospital For the Unfortunate for two weeks, was now being chased down the hall of the 42nd floor by a frenzied Asian woman brandishing a knife. A dark semi-transparent black visor covered her entire face, a face visor that at best resembled some new prototype of military grade gas mask. Only God knew why anyone would wear something so ridiculous, except to strike fear into the hearts of others. This foreboding device made John sweat profusely as he looked back to see its owner chasing him, sprinting after him like a rabid squirrel. She fully extended her arm, poised to carve up poor John. Images of the famous shower stabbing scene in Psycho played in her mind over and over. Except in this case, John would be fully clothed, cornered in the men's restroom, screaming in terror as she stabbed him repeatedly in the face. All the while, the famous theme music would play as John's blood would spiral down into the sink's drain. As she finished the thought, John quickly darted up the set of stairs to the top floor. Tap, tap, tap. His steps echoed up the stairway. He was now on the top floor, staring at four doors, two to each of his sides. He darted forward, and grabbed the farthest left-most door. He opened the door and slammed it hard behind him, making sure to lock it. This room had absolutely nothing in it, but four panes of glass that separated him from the outside. This was the vista room, where the senile and epileptic could spend the rest of their days staring peacefully into the atmosphere. The sky was blue, and there were no clouds in the sky outside. The sun's rays shined through the panes of glass, making visible thousands of dust particles which were

floating peacefully in the air. The sun basked John in its lovely glow, as if it was smiling down on him. John felt warm and fuzzy, and took a deep breath. The weather outside indicated a day where nothing could possibly go wrong. Nothing except for the fact that an infuriated Asian woman began to repeatedly stab through the door behind him. John panicked, there was nowhere to go; the woman laughed, making steady progress with her murder weapon. "Why you do it?" the woman screamed in a desperate manner behind the half-torn door with all the force she could muster in her four foot nine frame. "It was an accident Mrs. Wong, I swear to god! I didn't mean to trip over your son's life support plug!"" "What you mean, it was accident? Maybe I tell police I trip and stab you in face five hundred time!" John now understood that Mrs. Wong could not be reasoned with. Looking around, he knew he had only one choice. He turned away from Mrs. Wong, and braced himself. He did not want the headline "Young Hospital Intern Stabbed In Face to Death By Little Asian Lady" appearing in the newspaper the next day. John looked past the panes of glass. Seagulls were now flying outside of the room. If he was going to die, he decided he would have full control over his circumstances of kicking the bucket. John took another deep breath. He dashed towards the sky outside, running full force for the panes of glass that separated him from the heavens. In true Matrix style, he smashed through the windows, sending shards of glass every which way. As he glided in the air, time slowed almost to a stop. For some reason, John noticed that the seagulls he had seen outside earlier were now falling in slow motion with him as well. The glass shards from John's impact had impaled all of seven of them. Their tongues now plopped out loosely from

their beaks, tears forming in their eyes. They were splattered with dried blood, road kill in free fall. All seven, dead. John smirked, thinking "God I'm awesome. What better way to fall with style?" He closed his eyes and sighed deeply with relief, letting all his troubles go with his breath. Unfortunately for John, his moment of Zen would be short lived. Only a second had passed, and he heard a loud crash from behind him. Mrs. Wong had followed John out of the building, breaking through the glass. She too was now falling in slow motion, surrounded by shards of glass. Her visor protected her angry face from the cruel shrapnel which had splintered the seagulls so mercilessly. "I kill you!" she yelled, as John's smile slowly turned into a frown. However, John's frown was no ordinary frown. His frown was the kind that circus clowns sport after a grueling day of entertaining hundreds of mindless fans at the fair, repeating a regimen of juggling balls and riding on unicycles and performing other self-depraving acts for an audience they hated with all their miserly souls. A frown of true sorrow which would plunge any heart into the deepest depths of darkness. A frown that would make Chuck Norris instantly burst into tears of sympathy. The air flew into John's face relentlessly, forcing his cheeks into what now looked like skin colored play-doh. John was beginning to feel nauseous. He looked for a way to escape his predicament. Unfortunately, he was at least 10 feet away from the nearest building wall. John looked behind him. Mrs. Wong was still screaming death threats, but was no longer holding a knife or wearing a visor; both had flown off into the air above. John's eyes now widened, and his frown now stretched as far as was humanly possible. Mrs. Wong's face looked as if it was a mesh of every single ogre in the Harry Potter series, mixed with a bit of Bilbo Baggins and The Hulk. He had never seen such a horrendous, disgusting, repulsive, and disfigured face like Mrs.

Wong's. The nausea meter in John's head, with the least nauseous value being a one and full on projectile vomit being 10, was now at a 15. His nausea set into full force, and he began to vomit viciously. The dissolved parts of the quadruple stacked hamburger he ate for lunch was now flying into his eyes and burning them. John screamed as he clawed his eyes and choked on the orange and brown puree that was flying out just to rush back into his throat, while chunks of mashed beef patty clogged up his nostrils. Mrs. Wong, being directly above John, received the leftovers. The remainder of John's vomit flew into her face; the rancid smell overpowered her senses while the chunky texture slapped against her cheeks. Mrs. Wong then began to vomit as well, as morsels of partly digested Kung Pao Chicken pummeled her face. On the street below, pedestrians could observe two people falling, with a stream of strangely colored liquid streaming behind them like rocket fuel. John began to cry like a baby who had its candy taken away by a stranger, given back, and then immediately taken away again. "Why did I have to be in such a rush? I could have just watched the rerun of The Office online," John thought to himself in his free fall to hell. John screamed at the top of his lungs. He clenched his fists, punched and kicked the air as hard as he could, shaking his body vigorously in epileptic fashion as a 14 year old World of Warcraft addict might do if his parents threw away his computer. John released his last act of defiance against the world, sulked, and returned sobbing. "God damnit," he uttered through gritted teeth and flowing tears. The pedestrians in the street watched John and Mrs. Wong and the trail of vomit that followed them in awe, as the sun continued to smile down gently on the city.